Bloodlines
by Cold Hearted Wings
Summary: When a seventeen years old Abraxas Malfoy and his father walk into Borgin and Burkes, a young sales assistant, Tom Riddle approaches them. When he gets the chance, Tom tries to recruit Abraxas for his Death Eaters, but Abraxas remmembers him from school and remmembers that Riddle is not, after all, a pure blood name. One Shot.


**_Disclaimer: _**_The ideas are mine, the characters belong to JK._

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**_Character:_**_ Abraxas Malfoy__  
_**_Prompts:_**_ House; Infinity; Shoe; Muggle; Money; And  
**Boot Camp Prompt**: Stain _

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_"... I have inside the blood of kings..."_  
**_-Queen_**

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A bell clanged above the door of Borgin and Burkes, anouncing the arival of two visitors, and Septimus Malfoy stepped into the store, followed by his son.

Abraxas was seventeen years old now, one week away from taking the Hogwarts Express for the last time. He was already taller than his father had ever been, though his short blond hair and his broad shoulders were precisely the same. Be that as it may, the son had a much slender build, and his eyes were bright blue, like his mum's. He carried an oddly shapped bag on his left shoulder, and his hands were protected by fingerless gloves.

"How can I help you?" asked a young sales assistant, whom Abraxas recognized as Tom Riddle, a young Slytherin who had attended Hogwarts a few years ahead of him.

Riddle looked different from his school days. His cheeks were hollowed, and his hair was slightly longer than it had been. Back at Hogwarts, his second-hand books and uniforms that didn't quite fit had always made clear that he had no money. That at least had not changed, Abraxas thought, looking down at Riddle's plain black suit. It seemed, however, unfair to expect much more from a lowly salesman, in spite of what he had been as a schoolboy.

"I'll take care of Mr. Malfoy, Tom." Old Borgin said, emerging from the back of the store when he heard Septimus' voice. Abraxas walked away, wishing to explore the infinity of intriguing objects of the store. He was followed by Riddle.

"Hello."

"Hello", the young Malfoy answered politely, but he did not look at the other boy. Distractedly, he gazed at the ancient looking masks hanging in the walls.

"Is that a new broomstick?" Riddle asked, pointing at the long bag Abraxas had on his shoulder. "That's right, you were in the quidditch team, weren't you? What was your position?"

"Seeker," Abraxas answered once again, and once more he refused to turn and look at the salesman. Instead, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and used it to lower one of the masks from the wall so he could watch it closely. The mask floated in the air between himself and the other one, spinning slowly, as if it hang from invisible ropes. He did not have to turn and look at the counter to know that his father's eyes were watching his every move. _I am not stupid_ _father,_ he thought, _I know what can and cannot be touched._

"Listen, later tonight some of my friends from Hogwarts will join me for a small celebration. Some harmless fun." Riddle explained, and a curious smile, full of unspoken meanings appeared on his lips. "All from Slytherin house, of course. I have been meaning to invite you to these… meetings. Lestrange will come. So will Avery and Dolohov. Some others as well, pure-bloods only. But we are missing a representative of the Malfoy line."

There was that smile again. Abraxas walked slowly through the shop's corridor, after returning the mask to its place. The older boy followed him closely. Abraxas could tell Riddle was annoyed by his apparent lack of interest. He did not really care.

"All purebloods, you say?" Abraxas finally asked. "Curious, I do not remember Riddle being the name of any pure-blood line, ancient or new."

Riddle might as well have been slapped on the face.

"They don't call me that anymore…" Riddled answered, slowly. Abraxas could see the anger in his face through his reflex on a cursed vase. "They call me V—"

"I know what you were called now, I remember when people started using that name at school. But as you can see, I also remmmeber your real name, Riddle." Abraxas stated firmly. "Unless I am mistaken, you grew up on a muggle orphanage home, did you not? How is it that you manage to be in Slytherin, I wonder? Probably you were one of those who didn't even know about Hogwarts until they've got the letter…"

Abraxas smiled. He looked down and his eyes got a glimpse of some sort of stain in Riddle's left shoe. He could have laughed but he restrained himself. It would have been impolite and unbecoming of his name to make a mockery out of such a pathetic creature, whose fortune was infinitely smaller than his own. It had been impertinent of Riddle to approach him, but Abraxas blamed his colleagues, other pure-blood youngsters who were foolish enough to follow this salesman like dogs.

Septimus called his son from the farthest corner of the store.

"I come from an ancient and noble lineage, Riddle. It would be a dishonor to my name if I were to become part of your little group, to do the things you do. I will not join you. And I assure you, no one of my blood ever will."

Without another word, he turned his back and followed his father outside the store. Septimus awaited with approval in his eyes. Neither of them noticed the wrath burning behind Voldemort's eyes.

Abraxas was a young man now but, Voldemort promised himself, he would live to regret those words.

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_**Author's Note**: I wrote this for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy Challenge, Advanced Arithmancy Studies (Extra-Curricular). I am combining it with the Minor Character boot Camp. _

_This story is from Abraxas point of view, so I kept Voldemort's thoughts to himself. How annoyed he was at having to work behind the counter at borgin & Burkes when clearly he wanted to be sent to collect treasures all the time. How he decided that the best way to punish Malfoy was not to spill his pure blood but to recuit his son against his will - what would happen in the years to come... Perhaps I'll write about this future soon. _


End file.
